


289 - A Ten-Hour Flight With Van & His Daughter

by storiesaboutvan



Category: Catfish and the Bottlemen (Band)
Genre: Dad Van, F/M, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-18
Updated: 2018-08-18
Packaged: 2019-06-29 04:58:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15722460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storiesaboutvan/pseuds/storiesaboutvan
Summary: An original non-requested fic about: A ten-hour flight with Van McCann and his genius and super beautifully weird three-year-old daughter. When you’re stuck next to someone for that long, things can get personal. A bit sad. A bit cute.





	289 - A Ten-Hour Flight With Van & His Daughter

**Author's Note:**

> Note: A little less sunshiney than usual, but it’s an idea I’ve been kicking around for a bit. What if Van had a kid that wasn’t all puppy dog baby Van replica? What if she was smart in a different way to him? What if she was weird in a different way? And just a heads up - this one is dialogue heavy.
> 
> Warnings: Discussion of death and grief. No death scenes though.

Arriving at gate twenty-six, you were worried that maybe you’d gone to the wrong place. The screen behind the desk listed your flight though, so despite the lack of people around, you settled into a seat and got your novel out. Little Fires Everywhere was making you feel all dark and twisty. That probably wasn’t the best mood to put yourself in before an international flight from L.A. to London but it was hard to put down.

Soon enough, the other chairs at the gate began to fill with passengers and that was distraction from the book. You’d always been a natural people watcher; you liked to guess strangers’ lives. What made them happy? Who was waiting for them at home? Which incarnation of the Doctor did they love best? And most importantly, which of the people around you would be next to you on the flight?

You looked around the space, mentally picking people you’d want to be next to. Quiet business woman. Young guy travelling alone that looked like he could drop a sick beat at any time. Elderly couple that would adopt you over the course of the flight, offering butterscotch candy and tissues. Then, you saw them.

Sitting against the wall was a guy. He was probably in his mid-twenties. His legs were stretched out in front of him, and sitting on top of his thighs with her little legs crossed was a child. She was small, tiny even, but was talking to him. Those two opposing facts made it hard to guess her age.

They were cute. The guy’s expressions were bright and maybe exaggerated; maybe he just felt that big about her. You watched as her little arms and hands moved through the air as she spoke and how his ghosted her tiny frame in case she somehow fell off him.

The guy didn’t look like a dad. It could have been that he was young, although entirely old enough to have a child. He was dressed in all black, down to his scuffed boots. Even his backpack was black. There was something cool and… rock and roll about him. It didn’t match with your stereotype of ‘dad.’ But, there was something about the way he looked at her that made you certain she was his little girl.

Dressed in colourfully spotted tights, she was the opposite to her father. Her dress was purple, relatively casual. The guy had dressed her smart for a long flight. Sitting next to them was a blue jacket made of that warm, fuzzy material that was popular that winter. She had a backpack too, but hers had Spot’s cute doggo face plastered all over it. You wondered if she knew Spot from the books or the show.

While you were watching them over the top of your novel, the early boarding call sounded. People that had paid to board first made their way to the desk. Rock and roll dad and daughter stood up. She looked incredibly small when her father stood. Carefully, he helped her put the Spot backpack on, then slung his own over his shoulder. He picked her up and took her to the desk. When they disappeared through the doors you felt a little letdown, like the power had gone out before the end of the episode.

Ten minutes later, you were lining up with everyone else to board flight EK415 and finding your seat inside the cabin. Up ahead, rock and roll dad was standing in the aisle, helping people around him put bags in the overhead compartments. His daughter was sitting in the window seat behind him, watching the world outside. 

Usually, people that paid to board first took their seats and ignored the rest of the passengers. Not that guy. There was a certain level of responsibility that comes with being tall and physically able, but you were willing to guess he would have tried to help people anyway. He had that glow.

Distracted by the helping, you forgot to keep a look out for your aisle-side seat. When you first started to fly, you always picked the window seat. The novelty of the fluffy clouds wore off around the same time you realised there was more space and convenience next to the aisle. 

Instead of looking for your seat, you just kept walking until you got to the guy. When you stopped, unable to move around him without some form of interaction, he faced you and smiled.

“Need a hand?”

“Ah… maaaaaybe,” you replied slowly, looking down at your boarding pass. The redness in your cheeks was enough to burn a little. When you looked back up, you read the numbers and letters over the seats and realised your subconscious wish had come true. “Ah, yeah. Sorry,” you said to the guy a little more normally while handing him your backpack. “Just this one. I’ll chuck the other under my seat,”

“Easy, love,” he replied. When he reached up to put your bag away, his black t-shirt lifted just enough that you could see a little of his stomach.

“And, uh, I'm… here,” you said, pointing to the seat behind him, the one he was blocking.

“Oh, cool! Sorry. Yeah. Here,” he said all at once, moving to let you sit.

“Thanks.”

As you sat down, he looked over at his daughter, checking she was still alright. Something out on the tarmac had definitely captured her attention. He returned to help the last few people in the seats around him before taking the middle seat between his baby and you.

“Alright, Cookie Dough?”

The girl turned to him, nodding. “Dat bird is gonna die,” she said.

You had to bite your lip and stop yourself from laughing. Fuck. Little kids can be so creepy. Watching out the corner of your eye, you saw the guy lean across and look out the window, obviously trying to locate the doomed bird.

“He’ll move. Don’t worry,” he reassured her.

She made a small 'hmmm’ sound in response, like she didn’t believe him. Suddenly, he turned to you, catching you in the act of observation. He grinned. 

“Did you hear that? Says dead morbid stuff all the time. Don’t know where she gets it,”

“It’s kinda funny,”

“Not in the middle of the night when she comes in sayin’ there’s a ghost in her room,” he said a little too seriously.

“She’s done that?”

“Yeah. Here, look.” He tapped his daughter on her shoulder. “Cookie. Is there ghosts in ya room?”

She smiled. “No. Jus’ one,” she replied, turning back to her window quickly.

The guy looked at you and made a face of 'are you fucking seeing this shit?’ You laughed and nodded.

“Alright, yeah. Bit strange,”

“I fuckin’ love her but. Ain’t another three-year-old on Earth as special as her,” he said, chest puffing out a little. Pride had never looked so pure and so wholesome.

“What’s her name?”

“Emilia. Em. And, I’m Van. It’s nice to meet ya,” he introduced, shaking your hand like a real life proper adult.

“Y/N,”

“Oi, Cookie. Come meet Y/N. Remember what I said? Long flight, so we gotta make friends with whoever we’re sitting with.”

Emilia wriggled in her seat, turning back to you and Van. She looked at you carefully and you looked back. Like her father, she had blue eyes and long eyelashes. Although she only had two freckles, she had the complexion that would bloom more. She’d be a galaxy in no time. Emilia was small in a way that made her seem fragile but a sure personality that would protect her.

“Hello. I’m Y/N,” you said to her in a gentle voice.

“Y/N,” she repeated. “I’m Emmy… but… but Daddy calls sometimes… ah… Cookie Dough,”

“He calls you Cookie Dough? That’s cute. Why’s he call you that?” you asked.

Emilia looked up at Van, but before he or she could explain, the captain’s voice came through the overhead speakers and the safety demonstration began. You and Van smiled at each other in acknowledgement, then paid attention to the flight attendants. Em went back to the window. You wondered if the bird had moved from whatever dangerous place it had landed. You’d never met a kid that made you wonder so much.

For the first hour or so, Van and Emilia kept to themselves. Van mostly listened to music while casually watching Em. None of her crayons were colouring inside the lines, but she had a natural sense of what colours went well together. It could have been random though. Little kids are like that.

When the announcement was made that the snack cart was coming, Van and Em swapped seats. You looked down at her, seeing that she was watching the people around you. She was clearly a wildly curious child.

“Are you watching for the food cart?” you asked her.

Emilia smiled, then looked at you and shook her head. “Daddy putted da snacks in Spot,” she told you very matter-of-factly.

“Oh, that’s good… What are you looking at then?”

“Peoples,” she answered.

“She likes people,” Van chimed in. It seemed like he was defending her. To you though, people watching wasn’t considered weird or creepy. She was a kid after your own heart. “She’s kinda used to strangers because we travel a lot for my work,”

“I like watching people too,” you told Em. “Did you want to swap seats so you can see down the aisle?”

Emilia looked up at Van, who nodded. She stood up on the chair, which really didn’t make her seem any bigger.

“Yes, pwease, Y/N.”

You stood up, sitting back in the middle seat when she climbed over the armrest. Immediately, she sat down and clung to the aisle side armrest, leaning out to see everyone. You turned back to Van.

“How old is she?” you asked, surprised she had remembered your name.

“Three and a bit,”

“What? She's… super with it or whatever, you know? Like… switched on… Smart,”

“Yeah, I know. She keeps me on me fuckin’ toes. Few people 'ave said I should get her tested or somethin’, 'cause she’s so smart, you know? It ain’t just, like, book smart, but she can talk real good… better than me sometimes. And she just gets people. I don’t know. She's…” You could hear the love for her turn his mind to goo and he couldn’t keep going. Van went starry-eyed, looking past you at his daughter.

“She’s special,”

“Yeah. Been through a lot. Probably made her stronger or whatever. That’s what they say, right?” Van said, smiling at you with a warmth you wanted to know personally.

Emilia observed what people bought from the cart. She paid particular attention to where other children were on the plane. None of the information would be stored in her head for long. Like all kids, she lived in the moment for the most part.

When the flight attendants returned the cart to its storage place and everybody quietened down, you asked Emilia if she wanted to sit back next to her dad.

“Ummm…” she started, leaning forward with her two little hands on the seat in front of her. She looked at Van, he grinned back. “Mmmm… nope.” And she sat back in the chair.

“Wow,” Van mumbled. 

You looked at him as he made a pouty little expression of mock hurt. "Sorry,“ you told him with a shrug. "So, what happened to the bird outside?” you asked Emilia, turning back to her.

“She flew 'way,”

“That’s good. She’s probably going back to her nest,” you offered Em. While you wanted to know why she’d decided the bird was a 'she,’ you left it. “Ah, do you want your colouring book or something?”

“Can Daddy pwease get me music?” she responded.

Already on it, Van handed you an iPod and baby-sized headphones. She took both from you and you watched, amazed and slightly disconcerted, as she turned it on and located the music she wanted to listen to.

“Can she read all the band names?” you asked Van.

“Some of them. Think it’s more recognition than proper reading though,” Van explained.

“Weirds me out that kids are so good with technology,”

“Me too. I still don’t really know how to use my fuckin’ phone and she’s only three. Mad, innit? …Like I said, she’s smart. She likes to read and everythin’!” The pride was back on his face and like most parents, you could tell he was dying to tell you all about his special little thing.

“Is Spot her favourite?” you asked.

“Aw, looky here. She ain’t the only creepy little watcher, huh?” Van laughed. “Yeah. Bit of an old one; I remember Spot from when I was tiny. She reads those books every day. Me Dad tried to get her to watch the shows when he figured out the YouTube, 'cause they’re all on there, but she’s not about 'em at all. Don’t like many shows, actually,”

“I never did when I was little. More of a book kid too,”

“Yeah, I saw you before, at the gate. Had ya face buried in a book,” Van replied, the words coming out too casual to be casual.

“Well… that’s where she gets it then,”

“Gets what?” he asked with a smirk.

“People watching… creepy watching.”

You both looked over at Em. She was still looking at the people around her, but less intensely with the aid of whatever music she was listening to. You didn’t need to ask to know it was probably some super cool band that most other three-year-olds wouldn’t be into at all.

Another few hours rolled by. You and Van talked, getting more and more comfortable next to each other. Like his daughter, Van’s arms flew around as he spoke, as he used his hands to more carefully define his intent. He’d gently bump his shoulder against yours as he laughed. He’d maintain a little too much eye contact as he listened to you speak. There was a great deal of overlap in your interests, so there were endless things to talk about. It was easy.

Each time Emilia needed something, she’d sit up and lean on your shoulder and arm. It was like Van had approved of you, so she had too. At one point, she climbed into your lap to inspect you more closely. You wrapped your arms around her waist to keep her safe. Her little hands reached out and she touched your nose and cheeks.

“Do you like Spot?” she asked.

“I do! My mum used to read them to me when I was little,” you answered.

Emilia’s eyes met yours and her expression was unreadable. She looked over at Van, who sat up straight. You went to speak again, went to ask if something had happened. What was wrong?

“I don’t have a mum,” Emilia told you. Heart rate increasing and blood running cold, you weren’t sure how to respond to a three-year-old telling you that. Em opened her mouth but was yet to actually decide on what she wanted to say. Then, “Daddy reads good,”

“I bet he does. Does he have a good reading voice?” you asked her, rolling with the direction of the conversation. Feeling weird, you couldn’t bring yourself to look over at Van.

“Yeah 'cause he does'ed the voices… an’ he maked barking,”

“Barking? That’s funny,”

“Yeah… Daddy sings,” Emilia continued.

“Does he sing to you before bed?”

“Yep. And he sing'ed on… ah… on raid-o,” she said, looking up at Van for confirmation she was right. He nodded at her. “Daddy… he on… He go… he goes onto the… the stage.” When she got it out, she looked up for validation; you smiled at her and made a little gasping sound. It seemed to please her.

“He sings on the radio and on stage? Wow. Is Daddy in a band?”

“Baaaaaaand,” she repeated, giggling a little and leaning backwards, being held on you by your arms only.

While she dangled from you, giggling quietly and waving her arms around upside down, you looked at Van.

“She likes you,” he told you.

“How can you tell?” you asked.

“She pretends to be dumb if she don’t wanna talk to someone. Talks like… real baby talk, you know?”

“No way. That’s so sneaky! She is… gonna be a real handful when she’s a teenager,” you laughed. It was easy to imagine Emilie playing the role of an average three-year-old, rather than her above average true self.

“Don’t I fuckin’ know it. And if she’s anythin’ like her old man then I’m well and truly fucked.”

The plane had been in the air for four hours. Six to go and Emilie was growing restless. Lying flat on the floor under your row, she was alternating between watching you and Van talk and picking her nose. Van didn’t seem to mind her doing it, which made you smile. When she started to headbutt his legs, he sighed dramatically and looked down at her.

“Why don’t cha’ go for a walk, Cookie Dough?”

“By self?” she responded quickly, jumping up with excitement.

Van sat up straight, which allowed his tall frame to scan of the cabin. “Ain’t nowhere to get lost here. Just remember to be nice, yeah?”

Nodding, she walked off with the wobbly gait of a child. Van watched her go and tracked her movements. Emilia had clearly planned ahead… so much for children living in the present only. She immediately visited a child a little way up the aisle.

“Are you sure she’s only three?”

“Scary, ain’t it?” Van replied, smiling a little nervously. He sat back in the chair.

“Why’s she called Cookie Dough?” you asked him, slouching down and pressing your knees to the chair in front of you.

“Ah… well…”

Hearing the hesitation was enough to make you sit upright and put your hands out in surrender. “Sorry, no, you don’t have to, like… to me if-”

“Nah, nah, you’re alright, love. Just never know how to start… Said it dozens of times but still sounds… I don’t know… something… out loud,” Van replied with a warm smile. He rested a hand on your arm to try to comfort you, let you know it was okay to ask.

“You really don’t have to tell me anything,”

“Nah. Been told it’s better, like, healthier if we talk 'bout it. Just not used to it, I guess… Been lucky all me life so never had practice with the… ah, bad, I guess… When Em was in her mum’s belly… ah, there was an accident. Em was only six months along. That’s why she’s so small… And, ah, she gets sick real easy too.”

There was a natural pause in his story but the silence left hurt.

“She’s even more… remarkable then… Being so smart and brave and stuff,”

“Yeah. Exactly!” Van replied, grinning with that fatherly pride again. “She’s honestly a miracle. I mean, I know that sounds cheesy… but she is. So, ah, anyway, I don’t really remember a whole lot from then, but we all started to call her Cookie Dough, 'cause she came out the oven too early… not baked yet. Just kinda stuck… Helps her to understand too. Don’t think she knows she’s different or anythin’ yet… but she will,”

“Metaphors help,”

“Yeah, yeah… I’ve always liked 'em,” he said quietly, lost in his thoughts. There was an obvious question to ask, but it didn’t seem appropriate to do so. Van was used to it though. He could read the question in peoples’ expressions. “Em’s mum died in the accident,”

“I… I-” you stuttered.

“No, it’s alright. I ain’t telling ya to get sympathy or anything… I’m meant to talk to her 'bout it and… what’s the word? Make it seem… normal,”

“Normalise,”

“Yeah. I don’t think she gets it though. I mean, you heard it. She knows what a 'mum’ is and she thinks she don’t have one… But I don’t want her to think that,” Van said. He spoke so freely, almost like he was in confession or therapy.

“She gets death though… 'cause the bird,”

“Yeah. Apparently, that’s what kids do. They… they have all the parts but they can’t put it together just yet… And she’s only three. I forgot sometimes because she’s so fuckin’ smart,”

“She’s honestly the coolest kid I’ve ever met,” you offered, smiling genuinely and trying to simultaneously change the subject but leave it on the table if Van wanted to revisit.

“Awwww,” he laughed, waving you off. “You’re just sayin’ that 'cause you’re stuck with us for another…,” he checked his phone, “…five and a bit hours,”

“I’m not. I kinda want to put her in my bag and take her home.”

Emilie returned from her walk a little later with a stuffed toy version of the airline’s mascot. She said the flight attendants gave it to her. “And, and, and… ah… I… I saw the car,” she recounted.

“The car?” Van repeated. She nodded.

“Were the people driving the plane?” you asked her.

“Yes,” she confirmed, giving Van the side eye for not understanding her as fast as you had. “They in the car.”

Emilie decided she wanted to sit near the window again, but she wanted you to sit next to her. 

“I get replaced all the time, but never this fast. Jeez,” Van mumbled as he took the aisle seat. Reaching out, you ruffled Van’s hair. He leaned into the touch and you felt butterfly wings brushing against the walls of your tummy.

“Me too,” Em declared. Sitting on her knees and putting her head out.

You laughed, then ruffled her soft hair too. “You got such nice hair, Em. It’s so long!”

“I never gotted a cut and… and… and Daddy hated too,” she replied.

Glancing over your shoulder, you looked at Van confused.

“She’s right. I don’t like haircuts much. Usually end up lookin’ like a mop before someone drags me to get it cut,” he explained.

“Right. Well. I like your long hair,” you said to Em. “I’ve got some hair ties in my bag. Do you want me to braid your hair for you?”

“Aw, mate!” she exclaimed, her accent getting ten times stronger. You laughed instantly. It was obvious she mimicked her father frequently. “Daddy does braids but yeah pwease,”

“Is Daddy good at braids?” you asked her as you pulled your bag from under the seat and located your brush and little packet of ties.

“He learnded good,” she answered, sitting down on her chair with her back to you, very used to the routine.

“You don’t know how many fuckin’ videos I watched to learn it. Playin’ guitar is loads easier,” Van said. You turned to him and grinned, amused at the image of him YouTubing fishtail braid tutorials and getting it perfect for his baby girl. It made you melt a little bit.

Once Emilia’s long strawberry blonde hair was braided, she made a peculiar face at Van. He seemed to know exactly what it meant. Pulling his phone out of his pocket, Van checked the time. Like it was written in a story, an announcement was made on cue. Ordered meals would be served shortly and the snack cart would once again make its way around the cabin. Em clapped. 

“Thank you, Daddy,” and she sat down to look out the window.

“No, I didn't… Yeah, okay. You’re welcome,” he said, resigning to her logic that he made food happen because she wanted food.

Nobody would go as far as saying that airline food was great, but you’d always felt that people needed to chill out about it. It was like the absolute magic of literally flying through the fucking air was lost on them. The privilege of freedom infected brains enough that suddenly nothing was good enough for them anymore. So, when Van and Em happily munched down on their meals, sharing with each other and you so everyone could have variety, your initial suspicion that they were your type of people was completely confirmed.

Van was squished down in the space between Em’s window seat and the seat in front of that. He was taking her regular socks off and replacing them with fuzzy bed socks. She was sucking on a chocolate bar, unaffected by the goopy dribble running down her chin, watching him. Every time she’d twinkle her toes, he’d tickle the bottom of her foot, making her pull her legs under her. He’d easily pull them out, kissing her feet and making her giggle. They played the game quietly. Beautifully.

Thanking the flight attendant for the blanket then returning to his aisle seat, Van leaned across you to ask if Em wanted to sleep in her seat or with him.

“Like dis,” she said, standing on her chair. Emilia pointed to you. “Go like dis,” she instructed, turning on the spot to face the window. The instructions were unclear, but you sat up in your chair and twisted your hips to face the direction she wanted. Em looked back at you and clapped. “Now cocoon,” she said to Van. You watched as he wrapped her up in the blanket like a little burrito, or, in their words, a butterfly in a cocoon. “Wiv Y/N,” were her next words. Van looked at you. Nodding to him, you held your arms out as you were given Emilie to cradle. Van returned to his chair.

“Oh, I get it,” he said, moving his arm to hook around you, letting you lean partly on the armrest dividing you and partly on him. “All together, Cookie Dough?”

“Yeeeeeeeee,” she whispered, closing her eyes.

“You okay with this?” Van asked you, smirking.

Nodding, you replied, “Yeah, course,”

“'Cause it’s like… a lot…”

“Nah. I’m good if you’re good,” you reassured him, looking up.

“I’m good.”

Emilia fell asleep easy and you totally expected to remain awake. Yet, just under two hours later, you were woken by little fingers poking at your nose.

“Em! Don’t do that!”

“I wanna,” she whined.

“Don’t matter. Ya can’t go 'round pickin’ peoples’ noses, ya weirdo,” Van told her. There was humour and kindness in his voice, and she giggled in response to it.

Sitting up, you looked at Emilia. Her cocoon had unwrapped, but she was still bundled up on your lap. “Whatcha’ doing?” you asked her. More giggling. “You tryna put your fingers up my nose?”

She sighed dramatically. “Yes,” she admitted.

“If I let you do it once, will you stop?”

Emilia giggled and nodded, wriggling closer to you. Van leaned forward to watch the strange interaction. Em continued to laugh as she bopped you on the nose then went to put her pink in your nose. But, with permission, it wasn’t fun anymore and she chickened out. You’d been betting on it. She started to make strange sounds, then crawled onto the floor, dragging her blanket with her. There, she remained a lump of softness.

“I love her,” you whispered to Van, looking over at him.

Seven hours into the flight and both you and Van needed to stretch. The swapping of seats hadn’t really been enough exercise. Taking it in turns, you killed only ten minutes on that before finding yourselves back in your row.

“So… you’re in a band?” you asked.

It was all Van needed to launch into a show and tell of his entire life. Listening to him talk about his own mum and dad, it made sense how he seemed to be a natural at the parenting thing. For most of his life, Van hadn’t known anything other than love. It wasn’t until he met Emilia’s mum that he learnt what hurting really felt like. First, when they couldn’t reconcile their different life paths.

“I knew I wasn't… I wasn’t in love with 'er anymore. But, I loved her… Nobody ever really tells ya what to do in them types of situations,” Van explained, running his hand through his hair. He’d glance down at Em every now and then, make sure she wasn’t listening to truths she was too young to face. “I thought she, you know, still loved me… the way she fought me… But it was 'cause she knew she was pregnant.” Even the promise of a baby wasn’t enough to keep them together. Van did his best to describe the intensity of the months between when he found out about the baby and the accident. “It was four months… two of 'em I wasn’t even in the country. When she told me, I flew back in for a month, but we just had row after row, you know what I mean? So, I left again. Went back on the road like nothing was wrong.”

Van stopped talking and looked at you, like he was waiting for the judgement. He’d not get that from you. It sounded like an impossible situation, and you knew a thing or two about those.

“But you went back,” you said gently, prompting him to continue.

Van nodded, eyes cast down. “Yeah… I don’t know how she felt before… Probably was just scared… But when I got back we both knew it was done, you know? She weren’t in love anymore… So we just… hung out as mates for a couple weeks. Talked about the baby. Planned…”

“Did she pick Em’s name?” you asked, working your way to the more pressing question of what Em’s mum’s name was. Van had carefully avoided saying it though, so maybe you should have left it.

“Ah, yeah. One of 'er grandparents was from Mexico…” Van smiled then, a memory flashing in his mind. “She used to curse at me in Spanish all the time… Always sounded… like, better… or worse… in Spanish…” He grinned, and it made you smile. The people you’d buried, you still couldn’t speak of without tearing up. Van was either lucky or brave that he could remember her with such calmness. “Emilia was a family name,”

“Suits her. It’s soft but tough,”

“Exactly… Wanted her to have something of her mum’s, you know?”

You paused and considered before speaking, but spoke anyway. “What was her name?”

Van’s gaze snapped to you quickly. You couldn’t read his expression for a second or two. Then, his eyebrows pulled together in a deep frown. “Dulcie… Dulce.”

When his eyes began to water, you couldn’t help it - yours did too. You sucked in your bottom lip and started to chew, watching Van remember too much. A phone ringing, unknown number. A tiny baby, hardly breathing. A lot of guilt, nowhere to put it. Van flinched a little, and you audibly whimpered. He looked up at you.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered involuntarily. You just… meant it.

Van opened his arms and pulled you into a hug over the armrest. You clung to each other with too much force for strangers. Van buried his face in the crook of your neck. His hair tickled your skin as your fingertips dug into his back. Time seemed to pass differently to usual. 

For the other passengers of flight EK415, a slow and boring three minutes went by. For you and Van, a second. It was only the sensation of Emilia stirring at your feet that split you apart. As you did, you reached out and cleaned Van’s pretty face clean of tears with the sleeves of your shirt hooked over your hands.

Emilia emerged, blurry eyes and yawning. “Home yet, Daddy?” she asked, looking around.

“Almost, Cookie Dough. Got 'bout…” Van got his phone from his pocket, only to discover it was flat. He held it up to you. You pulled yours out.

“Two hours,” you said to them

“Well…” Em started to say. Both you and Van watched her, sure of entertainment. “I dunno what that is… 'cause I don’t know time.”

Van’s laugh was pure and when he looked at you with his surprise dimples and crooked teeth, you could see what Dulcie fell in love with. What, by the sounds of his band, the entire world was falling in love with. At the same time, you could see him for what Emilia saw too; a normal human with mess and faults, imperfect and trying.

“Honestly,” Van said as soon as he could stopped laughing, “…havin’ a kid is as good as you’d think it would be.”

Funny, you’d never thought of having a kid at all. If they weren’t Emilia, you didn’t want to know them. She was special. For instances, at that moment she had wriggled her floor cocoon over to your feet, where she was untying your shoelaces. You weren’t sure if she knew you could feel it, but you let her do it regardless. Maybe she had a plan. Maybe she was just exploring. Either way, you were in love with her process.

“So, London’s home then?” you asked Van.

“Yeah-Well-Yeah, no, it is. Now,” he answered, scattered, his hands kind of twitching through the air. You looked at him confused. “I moved back in with me folks when Em was born. Stayed there for a year and a bit. Then we went on the road. Been there since. But all the books and websites and stuff say she needs a stable home… so we’ve got a place in London. Gonna try to settle down…”

“Will that be good for you?” you asked, genuinely sceptical of Van’s ability to sit still in life. 

Van grinned and raised an eyebrow. You’d called him out, which meant you already had some insight. “I don’t know, love. Guess we’ll see… Whatever’s good for the little one is good for me… What 'bout you? Coming or going?”

“Going home,”

“Live in London?”

“Not that rich. Croydon,” you replied.

“Close enough. Not too far from us,” Van said in his fake-casual tone that he used a lot. “Maybe you can come visit? Hang out with the little weirdo?”

“Gotta get my shoelaces back somehow,”

“Christ!” Van exclaimed, reaching down and pulling Emilia up onto his lap. Your shoelaces were in her hands. “We talked 'bout this! Can’t go 'round stealin’ laces,”

“She does this a lot?” you asked laughing.

“Yeah. She’s like one of them birds that steals pretty things for their nest,” Van told you, his expression switching between amusement and frustration.

Emilia giggled, then made little tweeting sounds. You smiled at her, crinkling your nose in the process.

“Mind if I get them back? Need them to walk,” you said to her.

“Fee dollars,” she counted.

Van sniggered, but snapped into Dad Mode. “No. You can’t charge people for their own shit, Em,”

“Yeah. I ain’t paying that,” you told her. “But I’ll pay… what about a bunny kiss?”

Suddenly, Emilia was very interested in the offer. She stayed sitting on Van’s lap, but leaned over and looked you up and down. “Whaaaaa’s that?”

“Never had a bunny kiss? Guess you’ll just have to give me my shoelaces back if you want to find out.”

The three-year-old looked up at Van with an expression that read, 'I’m annoyed this stranger has worked out my weakness is curiosity and I simultaneously love her, can we keep her?’ Van grinned down at his daughter and shrugged. Emilia looked back at you and slowly reached out, handing your laces back.

“Thank you… Alright. A bunny kiss. Just goes like this,” you said.

Moving slowly in case she didn’t like being so close to a stranger, you leaned across the space and gently rubbed your nose against hers. Emilia squealed in delight, the loudest sound she’d made all flight. Obviously, she was amused at her own reaction too; she clapped her hands over her mouth and wriggled. Van laughed.

“Again?” she whispered when she moved her hands.

Nodding, you bunny kissed her again. Second time around she shook her nose back, giggling.

“You’re a natural,” you told her, somehow proud of the whole thing.

“Fank you, Y/N,” Em said politely before looking up at Van. “Daddy turn,” she said, pushing her face into his. Van laughed and bunny kissed her back. She held his face in her little hands, smiling like crazy. Before she could get too far, he kissed her forehead. She rubbed her face on his like a cat would. “Good,” she whispered, mostly to herself, as she sat back down in Van’s lap, resting against his chest. He pulled the blanket up around her.

“Think you’ve just changed her life,” Van said to you.

Yep. That feeling was definitely pride.

The ninth hour came and went with bunny kisses and cups of badly made tea. Van sat in the middle seat, catching a little sleep with Em resting on him from the window seat as she read the same short Spot book over and over, and you resting on him from the other side as you immersed yourself in Little Fires Everywhere.

Finally, the end was in sight and everybody was asked to return to their seats. As Van buckled Em in, she looked over at you.

“Is Y/N comin’ home with us?” she asked Van in a whisper that she assumed you could not hear. You bit down on the smile and pretended you couldn’t.

“Ah… No, baby. She’s gotta go to her home,”

“Why?”

“Um… Because… she don’t live with us,” Van struggled to explain the obvious.

“Like Uncy Larry?”

Van was confused as to why, of all the people that did not live with them, why Larry’s name was the one Em decided to drop. “Uh, yeah. Like Uncle Larry. She can come visit like he does,”

“When?” she asked, looking up at him with big blue eyes.

“I don’t know, baby. We can write her an invitation when we get home, okay?”

“With me c'ayons?”

“Yep. With your crayons,” Van confirmed.

The landing was the smoothest you’d experienced. When the plane hit the ground and rumbled along the runway, Emilia made a sound and let it be altered by the bumps in the road. She giggled when she was done. Van carried all the bags as you exited the plane and walked across the tarmac and into the terminal. Em sat on your hip, watching the world as you watched her.

“How you gettin’ home?” Van asked inside the terminal as you headed to claim baggage.

“Train. You?”

“Was gonna Uber it. Em likes talkin’ to the drivers… But, she’s got you… So maybe we’ll join ya, if you don’t mind?”

Smiling, you looked at Emilia and bounced her on your hip once. She laughed then pushed her head against yours, doing the cat thing again.

“Wanna come on the train with me, huh?” you asked her.

“Yeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee,”

“Well that sorts it. You guys wanna get something better to eat here, or wait 'till the city?” Van asked, walking ahead of you.

As you followed Van through Heathrow Airport, carrying his daughter on your hip so naturally, you never stopped to think about how very unordinary it was. You never thought it was presumptuous for Van to assume you’d want to get food with them in London. He never thought you were anything about genuine and spectacular. And, of course, Emilia, the Cookie Dough baby that would probably save the world, never questioned why she felt safe with you. Instead, all three of you carried on together like you born to walk through Heathrow together. Probably because you were.


End file.
